


Locked Up in the Prison

by talmaa



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, One-Shot, POV Rick Grimes, Rickyl, Tight Spaces, Touching, prison time, season four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22269454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talmaa/pseuds/talmaa
Summary: Daryl needs something to do, and Rick’s tomatoes can fare very well without the ex-deputy hovering over them all the time. So, what do two bored dudes do when everything is fine and there are no troubles as far as the eye can see?Well, they go exploring, of course. Looking for trouble. Because why not, right?Time: AU from the moment the Woodbury residents moved to the prison in the season finale 3.16, or, to put it another way, let’s pretend “30 days without an accident” (4.01) just was a much longer time :)
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 16
Kudos: 128





	Locked Up in the Prison

**Author's Note:**

> I love reading variations on the theme “Rick-and-Daryl-get-stuck-someplace-and-have-to-face-certain-things-about-each-other,” so I just wanted to try my hand in writing a version myself. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

“I’m bored.” 

Daryl sat on a small bench in what was simply known as “Rick’s garden” even though it provided food for all the people currently residing in the prison, and at least six other people worked there regularly every day.

The archer fidgeted with his crossbow and his left foot was tapping the ground feverishly.

Rick wasn’t doing much of anything, just checking the status of the tomatoes. He picked one and threw it at Daryl who managed to grab it just before it hit him in his belly.

“Don’t wanna play catch,” the hunter protested, but bit into the ripe vegetable without further grumbling.

“Whine whine whine, all day long,” Rick said good-humoredly. “Don’t you have enough to do with training the others? You’d think you’d have your work cut out for you with that…”

“You don’t say,” Daryl mumbled in between bites. “God, what a sorry band of bunglers we have here. Not that you’re much better,” he added pointedly.

“Yes yes, you have a heavy cross to bear indeed. Ok then, what else… you’ve got your hunting and your fishing-”

“Larders are full. Carol told me to bring in new stuff ‘at my peril’. Fancy way of sayin’ she’d kick my ass.”

“Fine, fine. God, I thought I wouldn’t need to do this after Carl grew out of the whiny ‘dadd-eeeeeeee I don’t have anything to dooooo’ phase.”

Daryl snorted. “You need challenges for your brain as well as your body. I’m just here to help. Provide you with small intellectual exercises,” he said piously, licking tomato juice off his fingers.

Rick chuckled, feeling a light flush inexplicably rise on his cheeks. His eyes were glued on Daryl’s fingers, but before he had time to figure out an answer to the horrified “ _what the fuck man???_ ” his mind was screaming at him, one thought led to another.

“Ok but still. There’s hunting and then there’s ‘hunting’,” Rick said curling his fingers. “I’ve seen you vanish into thin air and thick woods faster than a bunny when the Woodbury ladies are on _their_ hunting mode.”

“Dunno whatcha mean,” muttered Daryl, blushing like a teenager to Rick’s absolute delight. He laughed out loud.

“You SO know what I mean. I could name a dozen ladies of various ages who’d be more than happy to accompany you to...well, pretty much anywhere.”

Daryl’s blush deepened. 

“There’s Carol too… although she doesn’t seem to flirt with you as much as she used to. What’s with that anyway?” Rick was starting to ease off -- the archer looked more than slightly uncomfortable and that had never been Rick’s intention.

“Nothin’... we’re just friends. Ain’t interested an’ she knows it.” Daryl’s voice was gruff and so low Rick could hardly distinguish the words.

“Any of the others?” Rick’s question was an honest query without a trace of tease. He didn’t want to put his friend on the spot but he didn’t really get why Daryl was treating the subject like a hot brick.

“Nah. They’re just… not my type.”

Before Rick had time to ask the obvious next question, Daryl led the discussion back on track.

“Don’t try to change the subject! I’m bored -- gimme somethin’ to do, come on, man!”

Rick looked around him, chewing on his lower lip, trying to think of something. Then his gaze hit the prison itself, and an idea struck him.

“Let’s explore.”

Daryl’s eyes followed Rick’s and the hunter turned to look back at the enormous building. His face relaxed into cautious interest.

“Wanna come with?”

“Hell yes! It’s been forever since we did anything together.” Rick frowned, thinking. “There’s at least the wing leading east from block F...and the third floor of that northern wing, y’know, the one that’s partially collapsed… and then there’s that part of the cellar under block B, we’ve never been there...oh, and Tyreese and the others came here through the southern walls where there are some separate buildings, we’ve never been there either, just locked the corridors and forgot about them.”

Rick knew his eyes were shining with enthusiasm, and it was really out of place, considering the job could be dangerous and all, and he’d sort of sworn to stay out of stuff like that. But he felt like a young boy, eager to go _adventuring_ with his best friend, and anyway, NOTHING ever felt dangerous when Daryl was there.

The archer peered at Rick through his overly long fringe and gave him a small quick smile.

“When?”

“After lunch?”

“Sounds good.”

*********

When Rick and Daryl told Hershel of their plans, the old man nearly forgot he was a dignified, respectable member of Prison Council, and almost rolled his eyes to high heaven. Almost. Instead, he simply sighed.

“Very well, if you must. Well, alright, I can see the merit in this...excursion… in the long run. However… be careful. I would not want to explain to Carl why you two won’t be coming back.” Hershel frowned his thick eyebrows at the two explorers in a very stern manner.

“Yes sir,” Daryl said without any sarcasm. He liked the old man. He was a tough son of a bitch, and had earned Daryl’s respect.

They had backpacks with water and a few sandwiches, just in case. Knives, bullets for Rick’s Python, bolts for Daryl’s trusted crossbow, a couple of torches. They were all set.

The men had talked with Tyreese and Sasha and knew where they had entered the Tombs all those months ago. They trudged through the cellar corridors and found the fracture in the wall just where Tyreese had said it would be. They squeezed through it and were finally on unchartered territory. 

They were standing on a concrete floor of a huge open space which would’ve been fully enclosed had not the wall surrounding the prison been crumbled here and there. The wide fractures were several feet from the ground, which explained why more walkers hadn’t entered the Tombs using that route. There was a large building in the middle of the courtyard; a sturdy thing with two floors. Daryl looked at it with narrowed eyes. 

“Some kinda warehouse, probably?”

“We’ll check the walls first, then the warehouse, ok?” Rick whispered. Everything seemed to be alright, but you never knew. Not wise to make unnecessary noise.

Rick took the lead with a knife at the ready; Daryl walked almost backwards with his crossbow, sweeping the rear with his gaze. The walk around the courtyard took a long time; they checked every door but they were all locked, so for now they were secure. When they got to the outer wall, Daryl climbed to check the fractures. 

“‘s not bad,” he said in a low voice when he came back. “There’s some rubble outside but it don’t come high enough for walkers. For people, yeah, it’s doable, so ‘m thinkin’ we’ll come back with some others, circle around outside an’ do somethin’ to those piles.”

Rick handed a bottle of water to Daryl.

“You look like you could use some. And yeah, good plan. So what next? Take a break or go check the warehouse first?”

Daryl opened the bottle and drank with long gulps. Rick caught himself staring at the line of Daryl’s throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his skin glistening with sweat. _What the fuck man??_ the horrified voice in his head whispered again. The voice positively screamed, thoroughly scandalized, when Daryl spurted some water on his face, letting rivulets run down his neck and vanish under the collar of his frayed sleeveless flanel. Rick’s eyes, quite without his permission, followed the course of the water drops, while his brain listened to the panicked voice and wondered if he might be losing his mind. 

What had come over him? Objectively speaking, Rick could admit that his friend was, well, nice-looking. He wasn’t blind! And even if he were, the overheard comments from a few dozen ladies would’ve enlightened him on the subject. But there was objective knowledge and then there was... _this_. Daryl’s hair was damp and the man was running his fingers through it (“Jeez, can I just empty the whole bottle on me? It’s fuckin’ hot here. You do the climbin’ next time…”), and Rick felt just a bit faint. 

_Yeah, there’s this. Ain’t normal, right, to suddenly start looking at your best friend and seeing_ **_this_** _? Like you had a pair of bewitched glasses on you. So, again: What the fuck??_

 _Not the time to think of this_ , Rick told himself sternly. Later. In his own cell. Then he’d think this thing through and straighten it all up. _Maybe I’ve got a sunstroke or something. Yes. That’s got to be it._ Rick felt a surge of relief; sunstroke was such a sensible explanation!

“Let’s do the warehouse first, then we’ll have a break and maybe have a look at what’s behind some of those doors.”

Rick nodded, and the men strolled to the main door. It was locked but it was obvious that someone had left in a hurry as the key was lying on the concrete. Daryl opened the door as silently as possible; Rick on the other side of the doorframe, ready for anything that might burst out of the building.

Nothing. All was quiet and dusty. The ground floor was full of rows and rows of warehouse shelves; on their left, close to the door, there was a sturdy metal staircase to the upper floor. Daryl banged on the metal frame a few times with his knife, they waited a short while -- nothing. Rick jerked his head towards the stairs. “Let’s check that first.”

The men climbed to the upper floor. There was a long corridor with a few doors. Rick cautiously pushed one of them open: it was a small apartment, windowless, austere. 

“Livin’ quarters… for some special privilege prisoners maybe?” Daryl said over Rick’s shoulder, pointing at the door with the lock only on the outside. “There might be somethin’ we can use. Stupid that we’ve not come here before.”

 _No, what’s stupid is that you’re leaning on me and I’m feeling your breath on my cheek ‘cause your face is_ **_right there_** _, and really, this better be a sunstroke ‘cause otherwise… god, what a fuckin’ nightmare!_

They opened a door after door, not minding the noise so much anymore; they figured that if there were any walkers in the building, they would’ve attacked a long time ago. There were four apartments, every one of them empty and dusty, with not a single walker. They were rummaging through the farthest apartment when Daryl suddenly paused, frowned, touched Rick’s arm to catch his attention. Rick looked up.

“Heard something,” the hunter said quietly. “‘m gonna go check.” He was already half-way to the door. Rick followed him but Daryl was back by the time he reached the door. Rick grabbed his knife -- the hunter was in the fighter mode, he could see it clearly by the way Daryl moved: precisely, decisively, concentrating on absolutely everything all at once.

“The fuckers are on the stairs. Can’t get out that way.”

“How many?”

“Stairs are full of them. Twenty, thirty. Maybe more downstairs.”

Rick’s brain was on overdrive. How could this happen? They’d waited, and usually it was less than a minute to a walker reaction. How had they let this happen?

He didn’t stop to reflect on the pointless questions, though. He could already hear the shuffle of feet on the corridor, walkers bumping into the walls and doors. It would only be minutes until they got to the end of the corridor. He grabbed Daryl’s arm and pushed him towards the bedroom. The more doors they got between them and the walkers, the better. He didn’t want to think about none of the doors having any locks they could use. Thinking about it wouldn’t help.

They sprinted across the apartment to the bedroom. There were two doors there; now it was Daryl’s turn to grab Rick. “That one,” he whispered urgently. At first Rick didn’t understand the difference, and it took him all of three seconds to notice that the door opened inwards. He yanked it open and only had time to think _Shit!_ when Daryl pushed him inside and closed the door.

Shit indeed. It was not a comfortably large walk-in wardrobe -- although why Rick had thought there might be one in a prison apartment was anybody’s guess. It was a tiny broom closet with barely enough room for the two men and their backpacks and weapons.

The door was slightly crooked on the upper left corner, so it wasn’t completely dark in the closet. They heard walker noises coming closer, they were probably in the living room already.

“Backpacks off, now, before they come in the bedroom. We need to be able to use our hands more freely,” Rick whispered. 

The men wiggled and squirmed, and it would’ve been funny except it wasn’t. They lowered the bags to the floor and pushed them behind Rick to a low niche. For a crazy moment Rick wondered what the purpose of the niche was, and then a walker groaned on the other side of the door, and he got his priorities straight again.

Rick barely dared to breathe. He pricked his ears, tried to distinguish how many walkers there were, but it was hopeless. There were walkers milling about in the bedroom and more in the living room and the corridor.

Daryl leaned against him, clasped his shoulder for support, and brought his mouth against Rick’s ear. “We wait them out,” he said in a barely audible whisper. His lips brushed against Rick’s earlobe _and_ _fuck my life!_

He pulled himself together. He was a grown-up, he would NOT scare his best friend away because a goddamn sunstroke has messed up his head! _Focus, Rick!_

An alarming thought occurred to him. He cursed in his mind. The figurative clock was ticking. He mirrored Daryl’s movements, took hold of his shoulder and pressed his lips close to the hunter’s ear. “How long have we been here?”

A puzzled silence. Then, “Dunno… four hours maybe.”

The puffs of air and the soft brushes of lips were fucking _distracting_ but first things first. Rick did a lot of pulling-himself-together.

“It’ll be dark in four hours. They’ll get worried then. Worst case, they send people out here and they bump into dozens of walkers. We better pray we get out of here first.”

He pulled back. Daryl moved his head, a tiny movement, but it caused their cheeks to meet, and Rick felt the soft scratch of Daryl’s stubble on his skin, and he shivered. He fucking _shivered_ , while being chest to chest with Daryl, meaning there was no way the younger man, his fucking _best friend_ , didn’t feel it.

Briefly, Rick wondered if it was possible to die from mortification. Apparently not. What a shame.

Walkers crashed into the door, and suddenly dying for any reason didn’t seem such a desirable thing after all. In fact, Rick very much wanted to have a singularly awkward conversation with Daryl on the subject of his having inappropriate thoughts about the younger man, because having that conversation would bloody well mean they’d be _alive_.

The men had no idea why the walkers were suddenly bumping into and pushing against their door. Maybe they’d smelled something, heard something? Maybe there were just so many walkers in the small bedroom they were crushing each other. None of the options were pleasant.

Daryl was still gripping Rick’s shoulder. He’d frozen for a moment -- Rick wasn’t sure if it was because of his stupid shivers or the walkers trying to claw their way into the closet all of a sudden -- but now the hunter slowly turned his head and settled his mouth to Rick’s ear.

“Change places. Go behind me.” And the man pushed Rick aside, stepped in front of him and turned to face the door, knife in hand.

Rick was stunned. Then, “What the fuck d’you think you’re doin’?” His question was an incensed hiss. _Who the fuck does Daryl think he is? He have a death wish or what? What the fuck is this sacrificial shit??_

He slid past Daryl, forced the man to face him. His fingers on Daryl’s arms were iron tight as he leaned over to repeat the question.

Daryl just stood there, peering at Rick in the dim light. They were so close that Rick _felt_ him sigh.

“Makes sense like that. They get in, if they take me out first, you...just try to stay behind me...or under me...maybe they don’t pay attention to you... what with all the blood.”

_Is he crazy??_

“Daryl, ain’t gonna happen! We wait them out. We stay quiet and we do _not_ waste energy in heroic stupid-ass plans! We get out of here _together_ , so forget about the shit you just babbled.”

It takes skill to be able to yell while whispering but Rick found he was a natural at it. He was seething.

“Come on man… we gotta have a plan B, just in case… and you’ve got Carl and Judy, you gotta make it back.” Daryl’s whisper was pleading.

Had Rick already mentioned he was _stunned_? Why were they even having this conversation? 

“You mean Carl and Judy would be ever so proud to have their daddy be saved by said daddy letting his best friend quite literally die ON him? Wow. Carl would really see me as a great role model. A true leader!” Rick was too upset to care; he let his other hand slide down to Daryl’s waist and pulled him to a hug. “Don’t you know how much Carl loves you? He’d _never_ forgive me. _I_ ’d never forgive me. I don’t know how I’d be able to live with myself.”

Uncertain and cautious, saying nothing, Daryl slid his arms around Rick and hugged him back.

“So how about we forget the idiotic stuff you said and just sit tight, be patient, wait them out. We can give it a few hours. If by then it hasn’t quietened down, well, then we’ll think of a plan B. Which will -- pay attention now, Daryl! -- _also_ include both of us getting out of here.”

Rick felt Daryl’s mute chuckle. Good. Whatever morbid bout had struck Daryl, it seemed to have passed, for now at least.

Now that _that_ was settled, it would’ve been an excellent moment to let go of each other and return to whatever worked for the normal physical distance in that cramped closet. Rick had no idea what was going on in Daryl’s head but the hunter wasn’t letting go, and neither was Rick. _There’s not much room anyways_ , he reasoned. _Might as well stand...like this._

The growling and the crashing deafened their ears. They stood there, drowning in voices of horror, but somehow Rick -- whose other hand had also slipped around Daryl -- found it hard to concentrate on their imminent and quite probable death. The hunter was all muscle, and so fucking _warm_ , and the smell of cigarettes and leather was like a security blanket surrounding Rick. What had he thought earlier? That nothing felt dangerous with Daryl there. They’d fought their way out of worse situations. If it came to that, they’d get it done, together.

Daryl’s chin was resting on Rick’s shoulder. And then he felt it: small touches on his back, tiny brushes back and forth, as if… as if Daryl was _caressing_ him. Rick’s heart picked up its pace. You’d have thought that with the walker situation at two feet’s distance, his heart would’ve already been sprinting like a race horse. But no… walkers, he’d sort of gotten used to them. _This_ thing, however… this was all new. 

They’d hugged before. They’d warmed each other up, shared bodyheat during the harsh winter before the prison. They’d never just... _stroked_ each other.

Rick turned his head a bit. His cheek met with Daryl’s warm neck; longish strands of messy hair tickled his face, and before he realized what was happening, he _nuzzled_ his hair, right there, just below Daryl’s ear. 

He froze. _Oh fuck. Oh fuck!_ Friends can caress each other, right, that can be explained away? But friends do not fucking _nuzzle_! What was wrong with him!

Daryl’s hands stopped. Then they continued their tiny brushes. Rick’s breath stuttered out of pure relief. 

And then Rick nuzzled the hunter again. Of course he did. Because tempting fate once just wasn’t good enough. He could just kick himself!

But Daryl didn’t react. He simply kept on stroking Rick with those tiny, gentle touches.

A part of Rick was monitoring the sounds; it registered a slight change.

“They’re not crashing against the door so much anymore,” he whispered, and like an idiot, he brushed a few stray locks behind Daryl’s ear, and Rick’s fingers just kept going, running through the hunter’s hair, until he came to his senses and pulled his hand back.

“Yeah. Could be they’re startin’ to move on. We’ve time, we’ll wait.” Daryl paused. “Felt nice.”

Rick’s hand still hadn’t landed anywhere. Hesitantly, he put it back, threaded his fingers through Daryl’s hair. “This?”

“Yeah.” 

Walker groans were a buzz in Rick’s ears, their bumps into walls a distant drumroll. Daryl’s breath was warm on his neck, his fingers pressed just a little firmer on Rick’s back. Rick swallowed, his throat tight, and _how is it this hot in here?_

His fingertips drew small circles on Daryl’s scalp, ran through his locks, and started all over again, and again, followed the edge of his ear, traveled at the back of his neck, and Rick didn’t really understand how this was happening. Why did Daryl let him do this? Why wasn’t he pushing away, smiling politely (‘cause Rick didn’t believe Daryl would want to embarrass him, they were friends, Daryl would be kind to him), making it clear where the boundaries of touch went as far as he was concerned?

More specifically, why on earth was _Rick_ doing...this? He couldn’t be that touch-starved, could he? He got plenty of hugs each day from his family, thankyouverymuch, and it wasn't like he’d had a wildly active sex life for years, even before all this. They’d been having a rough batch with Lori for some time -- maybe they would’ve got over it if not… but yeah. Shit happened, and they didn’t get over it. And now… and now he was running his fingers behind Daryl’s ear, down to his jawline, brushing his stubble, and _I’m fucking caressing my friend’s face and this is_ **_not_ ** _the way friends touch each other fuck there’d_ **_better_ ** _be a sunstroke I can blame this on!_

 _‘cause it can’t be… can’t. Just...can’t._ Rick’s hand halted. Daryl raised his head, Rick pulled back a bit, his fingertips still on the hunter’s stubbly cheek, palm cupping his jaw. In the dim light it wasn’t easy to see much, but they were so very close to one another that Rick had no trouble at all seeing his friend’s eyes. They were glued on his, the expression a puzzling mix of _bold_ and _uncertain_. Briefly, Rick wondered what the other man saw in his gaze. Panic? Hope? A goddamn realization of being head over heels for his best friend??

He saw Daryl say something. A barely audible whisper. 

“Feels nice.”

Somehow they were closer now, arms around each other just a bit tighter than before. Rick’s brain sent a distress signal to his lungs: _breathing would be a good idea right about now!_ He felt the hunter against his body, all hard muscles, and bodyheat spreading through clothes. They kept looking at each other, and Rick didn’t know how it happened, who did what first, but they were so close their noses were brushing against each other and Rick’s hand slid through Daryl’s hair to the back of his neck and…

...the first touch of Daryl’s lips was warmth and softness and cigarettes and the tickle of his moustache, and Rick felt like laughing because it was _fine_ , it was _wonderful_ , and god he hoped it wasn’t a sunstroke or a hallucination. The feeling of a hard male body, of _Daryl_ , was so good, and why he’d been worried about this he couldn’t say anymore. He slipped his hands under Daryl’s vest and then it was only his worn flannel between Rick and Daryl’s skin and it was _so_ much better. Daryl gripped his sides, drew him so impossibly close, and Rick gave a whispery moan; Daryl’s tongue slipped into his mouth and touched his tongue and…

...Rick felt woozy, this was too much! The taste and feel and smell of Daryl -- it was _home safety friendship_ and apparently it was also _sex want desire_ , and it meant being so fucking turned on Rick didn’t remember when he’d last felt like that. The hunter shuddered under Rick’s hands and the ex-deputy understood, once and for all, that he wasn’t the only one having these feelings. There was rather conclusive evidence at the pelvis region. Like all good law enforcement officers, Rick required more proof, and threw away whatever caution there still was lurking in his lust-befuddled mind, and rocked his pelvis, just once, experimentally, and…

... _oh_.

“Can’t… Rick, we can’t.”

Daryl panted in Rick’s ear, tried to control his breathing, keep his voice a low whisper. The sound barely registered in Rick’s brain, it was all hazy and wonderful and he vaguely wondered why they hadn’t kissed and touched and rocked a long time ago ‘cause, y’know, wow!

“...what?” Then Rick got it. Daryl had said _no_. Wasn’t that a cold shower!

He pulled his hand from under Daryl’s vest and took a small step back, got a few precious inches between them. Daryl had said _we can’t_.

“Fuck, no…” Daryl pulled him back, kissed his confusion away. “Didn’t mean like that.” 

He didn’t give Rick a chance to say anything. “Meant that we gotta stop doing… _this…_ here. We ain’t exactly quiet…” He gave a small, sheepish smile. “An’ if we’re gonna, y’know, go on an’ finish, we ain’t gonna stay silent enough, not that I’d even want us to...wanna hear ya come. But I don’t know about you but I ain’t gonna die when I finally get a chance to get off with ya.”

Rick felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Daryl, for all his rough language, was rarely raunchy, and somehow Rick had pictured him as a person who’d be so very shy talking about sex. And here they were, and the one having a blush on his face was _Rick_. Daryl was looking him unflinchingly, and even in the dim light it was perfectly apparent that no blushing was going on there.

…aaaaaand it appeared that this was just another thing to turn him on even more, and his dick was already so hard it actually hurt. 

Rick rested his forehead against Daryl’s -- a gesture they sometimes did, kind of a friendship-affirming thing. Now, it was that, and more. He calmed his breathing, put his hands gently on Daryl’s hips.

“You’re right.” He straightened his back and looked at the other man. Daryl had let his hair grow; a few strands of hair were falling over his eyes. Rick brushed them aside, just to keep touching the man. He leaned closer.

“This looks good on you,” he whispered, the simple brush somehow having changed into fingers tangled in Daryl’s hair.

“What?” Daryl’s answer was an honest question. _The man had no idea…_

“The longer hair. It’s goddamn sexy.”

“But...why?” Baffled.

“Dunno...just is. Can’t keep my hands off of it…” Rick’s lips skimmed the shell of Daryl’s ear, down to his jaw, up to his high cheekbone, flicked a kiss on the corner of his eye, and traveled downwards, hovered over his mouth.

“D’you think it’s safe to kiss?” Rick’s question was meant to be teasing; it came out breathless.

“Don’t care,” the hunter answered, cradled Rick’s face in his hands, and closed the tiny distance between their lips. All nerve-endings crackled, and random memories flashed through Rick’s mind. The snarling Dixon chucking squirrels at him. Daryl’s mouth twisting -- desperate and sad and angry all at the same time -- on the Atlanta rooftop. The same mouth saying “ain’t no reason you should do all the heavy liftin’", like swearing an oath of allegiance, and something had turned upside down in Rick, Tetris blocks clacking into a whole new formation. His lips a thin, set line when Rick caught his gaze among the prison crowd, as he was looking for the nod or the shake, too small for anyone else to notice.

He’d never imagined those lips so soft and firm. The lips glided on his mouth, all gentle and greedy, and their stubbles bristled against each other, created more friction. Daryl nipped Rick’s lip, licked it, and let out a small groan when Rick met his tongue with his.

Daryl’s hands explored their way down Rick’s neck to his shoulders, stopped at his arms, strong fingers holding tight, rubbing back and forth, and Rick could _feel_ how hard he was trying to keep himself in check -- static sizzled from his muscles. And his fingers...a storm of flashing visions took Rick’s breath away: Daryl’s adventurous fingers skimming, wrapping around, rubbing, pushing… firm and slick and _jesus christ can’t take this anymore I’ll come untouched and that’d be fucking embarrassing!_

Rick pulled back, breathing hard, like he’d just run a mile uphill. The hunter, usually so guarded, wasn’t in much better shape. His hands slid down Rick’s arms; Rick could feel them shaking.

“Yeah, we can’t…”

They stayed silent, trying to calm down. Then Rick saw Daryl tense up, tilt his head, concentrate. And at that second Rick noticed the same thing: they weren’t hearing anything. They glanced at each other, nodded. The walkers had left, flocked back downstairs most likely, and now they had their chance.

Rick crouched to pick up the backpacks. They readied themselves, but when Rick was about to push the door open, he felt Daryl’s hand on his arm. He turned to look at the other man, raised his eyebrow in a silent question.

“What’s it gonna be outside that door?” Daryl asked and jerked his head towards the door. “This...” he twitched his shoulder in a vague shrug, “...this _thing_ here, it’s gonna turn into a pumpkin, am I right?”

Rick knew, he just _knew_ , that Daryl had meant the question come out nonchalant and cool and breezy. It just came out taut, just as tense as his bearing. And that one small realization flipped a switch in his own head.

_It’s not just about getting off for him._

_And I’m pretty goddamn certain it ain’t just about getting off for me. Attraction, sure. Getting off, yes please! But, y’know, maybe…_

He stood there, frozen in place, mulling over this revelation, staring at his best friend, his trusted right-hand man, with whom NOTHING felt impossible, and prayed to a God he wasn’t really sure existed that they both wanted the same thing. He didn’t dare to think the concept, it was a bit too much, really, but...maybe, y’know, _y’know_?

“...right?” Hesitant. Unsure. Fingers on his arm slowly loosening their grip. _Oh no, Dixon, no you don’t!_

“It ain’t midnight and I’ve never really cared for pumpkins so if it’s all the same to you, then...nah. I’ll pass.” Rick smiled tentatively. “I’d rather keep this _thing_ and see where it leads us. I kinda think we’re on to somethin’ here.”

He glanced at the door. “Now, let’s go home, ok?” and pushed the door slowly and carefully, Daryl right behind him, knives in both hands, the crossbow on his back because it just wasn’t the best weapon in such close quarters.

They crept along the corridor, glancing stealthily to the apartments, doors busted wide open. Daryl reached the stairs first and peeked through the spindles. He beckoned Rick, and the leader crouched and walked silently to him.

“Nothing between us and the door. If we go quiet, we should get out, no problem. We gotta lock the door, though. You still got the key?”

Rick dug into his pocket, found the key and dangled it in front of Daryl. The hunter nodded. 

“I’ll go first. You be ready with the key. It should hold if we get it locked.”

The men slunk down the stairs. Two steps left, Daryl stopped, raised his right hand, and Rick froze in mid-step. A lone shadow shuffled aimlessly from the warehouse towards the door, ambled past them, bumped into the door, and turned. It lurched forward, hit the railing, and then their luck ran out. The walker sniffed, got their scent, and its jaws moved as if to let out a greedy growl. 

“Shit,” Daryl swore under his breath, and quicker than Rick’s eyes could trace his movements the hunter grabbed his knife, jumped down the steps and drove the blade into the creature’s temple. He managed to catch hold of the walker’s arm, and they’d almost handled the whole incident silently, but then the rotten flesh of the arm gave out, Daryl lost his grip and the thing fell at the railing. By sheer bad luck, it had a set of handcuffs dangling on its belt, and they met the spindles with a sharp clang which echoed through the silent warehouse like a church bell.

“Shit,” Daryl said again, pulled his knife out of the skull, ran to the door, opened it, got out, waited the few seconds it took Rick to follow him, and slammed the door shut. Rick put the key in and twisted. They heard the click of the lock -- and also the growl of walkers. They didn’t waste time staring at the door, wondering if it held, getting run over like dimwits if it didn’t -- they ran to the opening in the prison building, and only then turned to check the situation.

The door held. They could hear the snarl even from this distance; there were a lot of those things in there, they’d have to take care of the problem sooner rather than later. Just in case.

They crawled through the fracture and were back in the familiar darkness of the Tombs. They switched on their torches, hurried back through the first doors and bolted them, making sure that nothing could get through that.

Rick leaned on the door. “That was one hell of an exploration.”

Daryl gave a short, dry smile. “At least I’m not bored anymore.”

“Good to know it only takes getting locked up with fifty walkers to cheer up a Dixon.”

“Yeah, we’re kinda low maintenance that way.”

Rick chuckled, pushed himself off the door. “Let’s go. We’ve a story to tell.”

The men walked silently through the corridors. They entered the passage where they stored their things. Food, extra clothes, medicine, even toys and games… whatever they managed to scavenge.

Daryl stopped at one of the doors. Rick kept walking, noticed the other man wasn’t there any more, and glanced back. Daryl was staring at the door, deep in thought, nibbling at his lower lip. Rick walked slowly back, looked at the door.

“What’re we doing here?”

Daryl glanced at him, opened the door, pushed Rick inside, and closed the door behind them. 

“Dunno… thought we might think of somethin’.” His tone aimed at cool but there was also tension and uncertainty. Rick moved the light beam around the room. This was the place where they had decided to store every single piece of bedding and mattresses they could find. 

Rick looked at the hunter. He had brushed the fringe from his eyes, and was looking back at Rick with steady eyes, with a hint of a nervous ‘this had better be a good idea’ somewhere in there, as well.

The leader took a few steps, ended up so close he could feel the heat radiating from the other man. He shivered.

“You don’t think we should go tell the others about the walkers as soon as possible?” 

Daryl closed the distance, his hands started their slow ascent along Rick’s arms, rose up to his shoulders. One hand went downwards, traced Rick’s chest, down to his waist, and settled _hard_ on his hip. Rick swallowed. The other hand traveled to Rick’s throat, circled it, thumb gliding over his Adam’s apple, followed the line of his jaw, fingers pressing at the back of his neck. He swallowed again, enjoying this sudden sense of being... dominated. Rick was no delicate flower in any sense of the word; this here, this was a thrill like he’d never known before. A curious mix of danger and security. The knowledge that should the hunter want to hurt him, he could. Rick’s hands landed on Daryl’s upper arms, felt the powerful muscles moving, glided his fingers up, gripped the broad shoulders, heard the quiet gasp, sensed the puff of air on his lips.

Yes, Daryl absolutely _could_ hurt him. The thing was, he never _would_.

Danger and security.

“It can wait,” was Daryl’s terse answer. “This can’t.” His lips met Rick’s. He kissed like he did everything else: with single-minded focus, giving it everything he had. The firm hand on Rick’s neck slid down along his spine, fingers curled, blunt nails digging through Rick’s thin shirt. The leader shuddered, arched against Daryl, rocked into him, dropped his hands on Daryl’s hips and _pulled_.

“Fuck…” Daryl panted into Rick’s mouth. He flipped them around, pushed Rick against the wall with a *thump*.

Rick was more turned on than he remembered ever having been. This was different. This was _Daryl_. His best friend. His… _something more_ , surely? Rough and gentle, lethal and tender. Dangerous and safe. And _hard…_ so fucking _hard_ against Rick’s pelvis, and Rick attacked his throat, bit into it, and Daryl groaned, a long low growl, like a distant motor rumbling. The sound vibrated through Rick, made his hips shudder, and fuck he’d come in a second…

“Daryl…” he panted, raised his head to look at the man. The two torches were lying on the floor, casting their beams here and there, the light not reaching their eyes. Daryl’s gaze, the piercing blue, was now a pool of demon blackness. He felt Daryl’s heart thumping quickly, it resonated on his ribs, his chest pressed again Daryl’s.

The hunter rested his forehead against Rick’s. “Fuck…” he said again, low and breathless. His hands roamed all over Rick -- hips, arms, neck, and settled on his face, cradled his jaw, gentle now. Rick’s heart was too full, and the tenderness of his gruff hunter threatened to make it burst altogether. He wrapped his arms around the man and kissed him lightly on the forehead, let his mouth skim over his eyebrow, down the bridge of his nose, his cheek…

“Mmmm... Feels nice…”

“Good,” Rick said simply. “Can’t get enough of touching you. A few hours ago I didn’t have any idea that I really, really wanted to...and now I can’t get enough of it. The prison ain’t the only thing we’re exploring today.”

Daryl chuckled. “Very poetic. An’ speak for yourself, man. _I_ knew. Just...didn’t ever think it’d be welcome.”

Rick kissed the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well. We’re here now. Better late than never, and all that crap.”

Daryl’s lips met his. For a while it was just that, getting lost in the kiss. Heat was pooling in Rick’s groin, and he needed to _move_ , and he rolled his hips, needing friction, _right now_.

A throaty moan. Then, “You ever done this?”

“Define ‘this’.”

“Fuck you, Grimes. Y’know. This!”

“Kiss? Gotta say I have.”

“Oh that’s how it’s gonna be? You wanna be a comedian? Now?” But Daryl wasn’t angry, he couldn’t help the amused tone of his voice, and Rick felt a pleasant quiver in the pit of his stomach. Bringing their playful banter into this? A new flavor to an old thing. 

Rick decided he liked it. Very much.

“I’m a riot. Deal with it, Dixon. So, I’ve kissed. What else is the ‘this’ you’re talking about?” Rick wanted...to get Daryl to talk. To... _say_ stuff.

“You wanna play? Ok, we’ll play.” 

Rick heard the nervous undertone, but the hunter didn’t let himself be deterred by his shyness or old insecurities. _You’re one of a kind, Daryl Dixon._

Daryl’s hands traveled down his torso and pulled his shirt from under his waistband and crept back up under the shirt, Rick’s muscles contracting sharply under the delicious touch. 

“You ever have a guy touch you like this?” The gravelly voice made Rick’s head spin.

“Can’t say that I have.”

Daryl brushed over his nipples again and again, and pinched them abrubtly. “Some dude done that to you?”

“Nn..nno…”

Daryl took Rick’s hand and pressed it over his bulging hardness, moved Rick’s hand, made him rub the hunter’s dick through the jeans, and moaned in a low voice.

“You wanna touch me?”

Rick nodded so hard it cricked his neck.

“You ever wanted to touch another man’s dick before, Grimes?”

Rick shook his head, trying to slide Daryl’s belt open, trembling fingers oddly uncooperative. 

A breathless chuckle. “You ever let another guy jerk you off? You ever _wanted_ to get a guy’s hand on your dick?”

Rick squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head again. Why had he thought this would be a fun game? This guy was killing him!

Now Daryl’s hands were on his jeans, battling with the belt and the buttons and the zip.

Daryl’s beltbuckle gave up the fight, Rick snapped the button open and slid the zipper down. The hunter’s breath hitched and his fingers paused on Rick’s zipper. Then it, too, opened, and they were on the brink of something new, very concretely. At least…

“And you? You ever done this?”

Daryl opened Rick’s pants, settled his hands over the warm skin and the waistband of Rick’s boxers, spread his fingers, glided his hands to Rick’s hips, pushing his pants aside.

“Some kissing, sure.”

Rick peeled Daryl’s jeans open, _nothing under but skin...figures…_ He let his fingers crawl up, and opened Daryl’s shirt, one button after another. The man shivered under his touch. Rick put his palms firmly on Daryl’s chest, felt the muscles move, raked his fingers down, down, down… Leaned closer, brushed Daryl’s skin with his mouth, licked and licked a perky nipple, bit at it lightly, and fuck if he almost didn’t come at the whimper the hunter let out.

“Anything else? Ever had a guy lick your nipple?”

Rick’s fingertips touched Daryl’s leaking cock; both men shuddered violently.

“Had a guy touch your cock?” Suddenly Rick’s gut wrenched, an angry bout of jealousy at the thought of someone else touching Daryl like this. Someone else’s lips on his had been bad enough…the mere idea of Daryl’s tongue plunging into someone else’s mouth…

Rick shook his head slightly, this was stupid and childish and… yeah, probably very human too, but that didn’t mean it was wise to go down that road.

He forced himself to calm down. This wasn’t rational, they were both over forty and he’d been married, for cryin’ out loud, and this was the 21th century, not the 19th…

His fingers glided down the underside of the hunter’s cock, felt the hot, silky smooth skin, and waited for the answer.

Daryl breathed hard, his fingers gripping Rick’s hips so hard they’d leave marks.

“No.”

“No...to what?”

“Everythin’. Lickin’ an’ touchin’ and jerkin’ an’ suckin’ an’ fuckin’. Never been with a man, okay?” Daryl snapped, and Rick was surprised to hear a faint sound of embarrassment in there. 

“You don’t mean you’re a-”

“Shut up, I ain’t… I’ve been with women a few times. ‘s ok, I guess. Just not…”

Daryl’s breath was ragged; Rick’s hand had never stopped, he’d wrapped his fingers around Daryl’s hot cock and pumped, slow and firm.

“Just not...what?”

Daryl’s answer was to push Rick’s pants and boxers down, baring his dick and ass. His nimble fingers gripped Rick’s cock, his mouth landed on Rick’s, and for the longest while that was all that existed for both of them.

Rick didn’t want to come just yet, he wanted to make this last, didn’t want this to end, didn’t want to return to their apocalyptic normalcy. A thought, swiftly flitting by in his lust-hazed mind, shook a finger at him: stupid man -- without this apocalypse you wouldn’t ever have found this incredible man you love.

_Love?_

The realization and a particularly delicious brush of Daryl’s thumb on the sensitive head hit him at the same time. He gasped, and his hand picked up the pace, Daryl let out a shuddery moan, and came all over Rick’s hand.

The hunter let his head rest on Rick’s shoulder. Rick put his come-covered hand over Daryl’s, stilled it on his cock. He repeated the question, “Just not...what?”

Daryl’s breathing was slowly getting more even. 

“Y’know what.”

“Can’t read minds, can I?”

“Just not _you_ , okay?” Daryl mumbled in Rick’s neck. “Never felt like this with ‘em. Never wanted ‘em this much. Not even close.”

The hunter kissed Rick’s neck. Licked a broad stripe up, up, and nipped his earlobe.

“Your turn,” he whispered, and a shudder ran through Rick. And worse/better was to come. Slowly, Daryl got down on his knees, moved Rick’s hand aside and continued pumping his cock, like in slow motion. Careful and thorough. A beam of light shone on his face and glinted on his narrowed eyes as he looked up at Rick.

“You ever wanted a guy to suck your dick?”

_JesusChrist, how’s he supposed to last?? It should be illegal to say things like that. To have a voice like that._

“You ever wanted _me_ to suck your cock?” Daryl was still looking up at him, bold and shy and so fuckin’ sexy. The archer leaned closer, licked his lips, and kissed Rick’s cock. Kissed again, tongued a drop of precum off the head, and just kept licking and making Rick crazy. He tangled his fingers in Daryl’s hair and tried so fuckin’ hard not to push… he just held on, as Daryl’s mouth got bolder, his fingers more adventurous.

Rick watched, mesmerized. The light beam made everything a play of shadows and silhouettes, an otherworldly vision: his cock appearing and disappearing from Daryl’s mouth, the man’s hand pumping in small movements, his hair swaying, his other hand on Rick’s thigh, fingers splayed, fingertips digging on Rick’s skin. 

He closed his eyes, concentrated on the sensations. He felt Daryl’s hand move on his hip, travel down, and to the back of his thigh, and grab a firm hold on Rick’s buttock. Rick’s heart beat impossibly fast, and he couldn’t help an excited little whimper and an involuntary jerk of his hips. Daryl groaned; the vibrations almost made Rick come.

“Daryl… I won’t last…”

The archer slowed down, pulled back, and stood up, his hand still making lazy pumping movements. He kissed Rick, begged entrance with his tongue, and Rick tasted _himself_ on Daryl’s mouth. Another excited whimper escaped his throat.

“Ya like this?”

“Fuck yeah. That not obvious?”

Daryl chuckled. His voice turned breathless. “Ya wanna come in my mouth or in my ass?”

Rick thought he’d heard wrong. No way could Daryl ask… want… let him… No way! Right?

“Jesus… there’s… alternatives?” 

Rick’s brain snapped in high gear; images were rushing flooding stampeding... Daryl on his knees, lips wrapped around Rick’s cock, taking it all in, Rick clutching his hair and coming, coming… Daryl against the wall, Rick on his knees, spreading the hunter’s asscheeks, touching his hole with spit-sodden fingers, or maybe _ohgodohgod_ with his mouth, opening him up… Daryl lying on his back on one of the mattresses, thighs curled on his chest, asshole twitching and inviting, Rick lining himself up, pushing, feeling the tight furnace around him...

Rick shook his head, tried to come back to the present.

“I’m too close already…Your mouth.”

“God yes,” breathed Daryl, bit into his neck on his way down, raking his chest and waist and hips so hard it was painful and yet not… Rick groaned at the pleasure, his cock twitching, straining to meet Daryl’s wet mouth and probing tongue. Daryl grabbed Rick’s hips and guided the hard cock into his mouth. Rick caught on pretty quickly: he tangled his fingers in the other man’s hair, and with tiny movements he fucked Daryl’s mouth. The pleasure -- the sensation, the _idea_ \-- was mind-boggling. 

The hunter gripped Rick’s ass with both hands, kneaded the buttocks, spread them, fingertips straying so, so close; one featherlight brush on his hole and Daryl’s groan, and it was game over for Rick. The heat in his groin erupted, he kept coming, he felt Daryl swallow and swallow _god that’s hot!_ , and then his knees gave out and only Daryl’s strong arms kept him standing.

Daryl rested his head on Rick’s thigh. His breath was ragged; Rick knew his was too. Relaxed warmth had spread all over him, and he still had his hands in the hunter’s hair, curled tight among the strands of dark hair. He relaxed his fingers, run them gently through the hair, loved the silky texture of it.

“Come here, Daryl,” Rick said quietly. The man’s name felt different now in his mouth. It rolled over his tongue like a caress. The other man stood up and Rick pulled him into a hug. He knew his hunter -- he had sensed the sudden tension, the uncertainty, the cascade of doubts, whatifs, maybes attacking him.

The archer felt so good; flush against him, warm skin, familiar scent, stubble and hair tickling his face.

“You’re amazing, y’know. That was… can’t wait to do all that again. That, and more, maybe?”

Some of the tension vanished from Daryl’s muscles. He nuzzled Rick’s cheek and mumbled, “Glad ya liked it.” He moved a bit, just enough to reach Rick’s lips, and with the long, unhurried kiss the rest of the tension went away, and Rick’s arms were full of pliant Daryl, and for the life of him he couldn’t’ve thought of a place where he would’ve rather been.

After a while, Daryl pulled back and fixed his clothing; took a few steps back to give Rick more room to pull up his underwear and pants. The hunter went to pick up the torches and backpacks, brought Rick’s to him and turned towards the door. “We’d better go. Lots to do.”

“Daryl?” Rick had to know. He had to know for sure, with perfect clarity. 

The other man stopped and turned to face him. “Yeah?”

“What are we doing?” Rick tried again. “What is this?” He fumbled for words. “I said I’d like to see where this might go but I gotta know right now, gotta be real sure… is this about sex? ‘cause I… I don’t know if I can handle it if it’s just sex.”

He’d been looking at Daryl the whole time. The man said nothing, just shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Why?” The hunter finally asked.

“Why what?”

“Why can’t you handle just sex?”

_Perfect clarity._

“‘cause I think I’m in love with you,” Rick said. _Nothing but the truth will do, however awkward it’ll be if Daryl is only interested in the physical side of this thing we have._

Their torches dangled in their hands, shedding light on the floor, and Rick couldn’t see Daryl’s face properly. The man stood stock still.

“Oh.” Pause. “Okay.” Pause. “Good.”

“ _Good…_ How’s it _good_?” Rick’s heart amped up its rhythm.

“Y’know… ‘cause I’m, umm, kinda in love too.”

As a heated love confession it was not much, sure. Not romantic Shakespearian sonnet level, no. For Rick, though… for a second he remembered watching cartoons with Carl, those parts where prince and princess fell in love and little birdies chirped and red heartshaped butterflies flitted everywhere, and he felt like laughing because that was what it felt like now. A few awkward words, and Rick’s fucking heart sang like one of those perky birdies.

He relaxed, walked over to Daryl, and hugged the man. Torches, backpacks, crossbows, and all.

“Glad we got that sorted out,” Rick said, smiling.

“Yeah. Good talk.” Daryl’s gruff voice was definitely amused.

“As much as I’d wanna keep talking,” Rick lightly nipped Daryl’s earlobe, and chuckled at the low whimper, “we gotta go up and tell about those walkers. We got time later for some more talking an’ stuff, right?”

They left the room and started to stroll towards the next set of doors, when they noticed someone casually leaning on the wall.

“ _Now_ can I go in there to get an extra mattress?” Maggie asked. “I’d tell you to get a room but obviously you already did. Next time, maybe get a lock?” She swept past them; Rick had just time enough to notice the huge grin on her face.

They were on the stairs when Daryl finally got his vocal chords back online after the shock. “So… we basically provided some NC-17 entertainment for Maggie?”

“Teaches you to fuckin’ **_close the door_ ** properly next time!”

“Thought I did!”

Rick couldn’t help it -- a fucking _giggle_ burst out of his throat, no amount of biting his tongue could block its way. He glanced at the man walking beside him, shoulders bumping together, and saw the man glance back and flash a rare, broad smile. Rick’s eyes briefly strayed to Daryl’s teeth -- the grin showed his long canines and _that’s pretty goddamn hot_ , and Rick’s thoughts wandered some more _NO, stop that, not the time…_

*********

They walked straight to Hershel, called for Glenn and Carol, and decided to get rid of the walker problem the next day. 

When they got back to their cellblock, Daryl followed Rick to his cell, left his stuff there, walked back to his own cell, crammed the rest of his meagre belongings to his other backpack, carried it over to what was now _their_ cell, and that was it. They emerged almost immediately after, and Rick aimed for the coffee pot. 

“Who wants coffee? I’ll make some.”

Carol gave a slightly stunned, “Yeah, ok,” and Daryl wasn’t really sure if it was an answer to Rick or a comment on them moving in together. Someone surprised him by hugging him from behind -- Maggie. 

“Finally,” she whispered to Daryl’s ear. “I’m happy for you guys.”

Daryl caught Rick’s eyes. “We’re pretty happy, too.”

***********THE END************

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> -The Walking Dead and its wonderful cast of characters are not mine. I just play with them for fun :)


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